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Not many people can boast a photo of their grandmother posing for kiddiporn.

Angela Carter

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Angela Carter
Age: 51 †
Born: 1940
Born: May 7
Died: 1992
Died: February 16
Author
Journalist
Linguist
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Screenwriter
Translator
Writer
Eastbourne
Sussex
Angela Olive Stalker Carter
Angela Olive Carter
Angela Olive Stalker
Angela Olive Pearce
Many
People
Posing
Photo
Boast
Grandmother

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I think I want to be in love with you but I don't know how.
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Why do you do up your hair in those tortured plaits, now, Melanie? Why? Because, she said. You know that's no answer. You're spoiling your pretty looks, pet. Come here. She did not move. He ground out his cigarette on the window-ledge and laughed. Come here, he said again, softly. So she went.
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This lack of imagination gives his heroism to the hero.
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Language is power, life and the instrument of culture, the instrument of domination and liberation.
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Proposition one: time is a man, space is a woman.
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Nothing is a matter of life and death except life and death.
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The wolf is carnivore incarnate and he's as cunning as he is ferocious once he's had a taste of flesh then nothing else will do.
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We must all make do with the rags of love we find flapping on the scarecrow of humanity.
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Moonlight, white satin, roses. A bride.
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We do not go to bed in single pairs even if we choose not to refer to them, we still drag there with us the cultural impedimenta of our social class, our parents' lives, our bank balances, our sexual and emotional expectations, our whole biographies-all the bits and pieces of our unique existences.
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She stood lost in eternity wearing a crazy dress, watching the immense sky.
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Our fingernails match our toenails, match our lipstick match our rouge...The habit of applying warpaint outlasts the battle.
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They will be like shadows, they will be like wraiths, gray members of a congregation of nightmare hark! his long wavering howl . . . an aria of fear made audible. The wolfsong is the sound of the rending you will suffer, in itself a murdering.
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The one-eyed man will be King in the country of the blind only if he arrives there in full possession of his partial faculties--that is, providing he is perfectly aware of the precise nature of sight and does not confuse it with second sightnor with madness.
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Spindly branches of buttercups were secreted among gleaming stems still moist at the roots from last night's rain that had washedand refreshed the entire wood, had dowered it in poignant transparency, the unique, inconsolable quality of rainy countries, as if all was glimpsed through tears.
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Reciprocity of sensation is not possible because to share is to be robbed.
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A young girl would go into the wood as trustingly as Red Riding Hood to her granny's house but this light admits no ambiguities and, here, she will be trapped in her own illusion because everything in the woods is exactly as it seems.
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